The First Night
by Mendeia
Summary: Oneshot. What was it like for Gosalyn seeing Darkwing die on the rooftops with Taurus Bulba after their first adventure? This is the story of a child's mourning. Rated T for emotion and character death.


This is a one-shot that picks up towards the end of "Darkly Dawns the Duck," just after the explosion of the Ramrod. I started wondering how Gosalyn felt that first night after DW "died" in the fight, and how she dealt with returning to the orphanage. So this is that story.

Disclaimer: I do not own Darkwing Duck or any associated characters – they all belong to Disney. This is just for entertainment.

Enjoy!

* * *

Gosalyn Waddlemeyer had suffered enough in her young life to know that dead meant dead. Unlike any other child her age, the sight of the explosion engulfing Darkwing Duck and Taurus Bulba, one so violent it sent the Thunderquack reeling into the air, did not fill her will ignorant hope or denial. While Launchpad steadied the craft and flew over the remains of the building's rooftop, the young duckling stared out the window, her body cold and still.

"I'm...I'm sure he's okay," Launchpad said, trying to sound comforting. Gosalyn looked at him through wide green eyes. Their quick introduction only moments before, when the pilot had skillfully managed to catch her in mid-air before a horrible death on the street below, had given the child little time to know or trust her rescuer. Looking at the pelican's wide eyes and stiff shoulders, though, she deduced that this Launchpad was a nice, if naïve, person, one whom Darkwing had trusted for good reason. But she had no such illusions.

"No, he's not," she said, wondering at how level her voice sounded.

"But-but he can't be...!" Launchpad exclaimed, refusing to admit his hero could be gone.

"Please, let's just go," Gosalyn said, slumping in the seat and closing her eyes. A familiar ache was growing inside, one she knew all too well. Born of long practice, the child pushed the pain away and tried to go on, fooling herself into believing things could ever be okay again.

The next few minutes passed in silence. Even with her eyes closed, Gosalyn could tell that Launchpad was ignoring her request and circling the wreckage searching for any sign of hope. But after a few passes, he made a low, sad sound, and turned the Thunderquack away.

"So, now what?" Launchpad asked aimlessly, a lump echoing in his throat.

"I...guess..." Gosalyn began. But there was nothing to say. There were no options.

"You could come home with me," Launchpad said softly. Gosalyn opened her eyes to see his kind face looking over at her in concern. Her heart thumped once, but then settled back down.

"No."

"Why not?" Launchpad asked, confused.

Gosalyn sighed. There were so many things she could not explain. How could she make a total stranger, even a nice one, understand the pain of a possible family torn away again? She had heard those words "you can come home with me" so many times, and always it ended in loss. First her parents, whom Gosalyn only vaguely remembered, had died, and it was her Grandpa who carried her home. Those first weeks with him were a blur, but it resonated grief, which parted like curtains to sunlight before the years of living with him happily. Then he had been killed.

Gosalyn bit back a sob, forgetting Launchpad's question entirely. The death of her Grandpa was still so fresh. He had been her one friend, her family. Under his wing, Gosalyn had learned to like herself, to dare to be the person screaming inside. She had also known, known and believed that she was loved and safe as she had never known it before. And then he was torn away from her and she was left alone. The period right after his death was a scar in her memory; endless days of emptiness and sorrow and doubt and fear that seemed to consume everything she touched.

But in time she had adapted. After a while she began to live again, venting her energy at the orphanage that was now "home," mostly to get away from her real, un-faced feelings. Gosalyn was so desperate to be loved, the absence of it was enough to shatter her. So she became more spirited than ever, aggressive and active, to keep her thoughts from her stifled pain. It worked, but it healed nothing, and deep down, Gosalyn was wise enough even at her age to know it.

And then everything had changed again. A kidnapping gone wrong had led to the first real happiness Gosalyn had known since she lost her Grandpa. That afternoon only a few precious days ago had reawakened life in her young heart, and Gosalyn could remember again what affection and love and safety looked like, in the guise of one Darkwing Duck. Really, he had saved her from more than Taurus Bulba's goons; the hero had inadvertently rescued Gosalyn from despair. The empty time at the orphanage faded had from her mind and suddenly a new era blossomed around her. Even though a part of her mind keep stubbornly insisting that she would never be able to stay with him, that this reprieve from sorrow was temporary, that she would have to go back to being alone, her heart relished the infusion of hope, and it clung to that hope as a lifeline.

"I thought I might have a home again," Gosalyn whispered to herself. "I should have known better." Then she raised her head and met Launchpad's gaze with green eyes made vivid with unshed tears.

"I can't. I can't do it again. Just take me back to the orphanage."

"But why?" Launchpad pressed.

"Because I don't ever want a family again! I'd rather be alone! Then nobody can ever leave me!" she shouted, grief breaking lose into fury. Even the strongest child could not keep so much inside for so long, and when it broke free, it broke Gosalyn too.

Launchpad, in his defense, knew very little about suffering children. Certainly he had been with the McDuck's long enough to watch Huey, Dewey, and Louie go through plenty of stuff, but nothing like this. This abject depression and suffering was foreign to him. So, instead of pushing the child to accept help and healing, his conscience faltered.

"I guess I can take her there for now and always go back and visit, see if she changes her mind," he reasoned, trying to convince himself that obeying her wish was better than resisting. As she curled into a ball in the seat, her face hidden in her arms, he listened for crying, but she was silent, gritting her beak against the tears that fought to fall. Launchpad shrugged. He was in pain himself. He needed an easy way out so he could go figure out what to do now. So he turned the plane around, feeling a bit like he was betraying her even as he flew towards her forced home.

--==OOO==--

Gosalyn had very little memory of the next half-hour or so. She knew that Launchpad had gone quiet after her outburst, and that a few minutes later the Thunderquack was landing. When the shield opened, she automatically raised her head and looked around. The sight of a familiar and hated playground only served to solidify her despair. Never in her life had she given up; Gosalyn had been born a fighter and had battled all her life for survival and happiness. But now it was impossible to fight anymore; she had nothing left to fight for or with. So, as she awkwardly clambered out of the plane, oblivious to whether or not Launchpad was even bothering to follow her, she resigned herself to the worst and gave up hope.

She had a vague recollection of Mrs. Cavanaugh in her robe at the back door looking astounded, and of the headmistress and Launchpad exchanging some words. She also felt rather than noticed Launchpad giving her a hug before turning to leave. But Gosalyn was numb and had stopped caring. Mrs. Cavanaugh gently took her by the hand and led her inside while the Thunderquack rose smoothly into the dark sky. As the doors of the St. Canard Orphanage closed and locked behind her, Gosalyn felt despair settle in and make itself at home. Hopeless. It really was hopeless.

The next thing she knew, she was in bed somewhere. It was one of the common rooms, but it was perfectly quiet as everyone else was still asleep. Rolling over in bed, Gosalyn saw she was next to a window that, mockingly, faced the destroyed building she had so recently left. She pushed herself to her knees on the bed and gazed out at the sight. It felt appropriate somehow, that desolate carnage hanging over the city. It mirrored her feelings exactly.

"He's gone," she whispered to herself. Then sudden, hot pain overwhelmed her again and Gosalyn fell into her pillow shaking with racking sobs. She alternately wept, screamed, gasped for ragged breaths, and cried out to those she had lost, the agony tearing at her young heart like a ravenous wolf. She neither knew nor cared if anyone could hear her although she did try to keep her noise muffled in her bedding for the sake of a lasting shred of pride. Even so, nothing in the world mattered, nothing was real anymore. The only ones who had made life alive were dead.

After hours of raw and unquenchable pain, exhausted sleep crept up on her, and Gosalyn succumbed. But the grief followed her into her dreams, and at dawn she woke screaming for Darkwing, for her Grandpa, for somebody who loved her. She felt an arm around her forcing a cup with fluid in it to her beak; she drank without recognition. She never felt Mrs. Cavanaugh tucking her back into bed, shushing the other children in the room, or offering a few words meant to be comforting. Gosalyn was lost in a world of her own sorrow.

Mrs. Cavanaugh, for her part, was deeply worried about the child. The loss of her grandfather had been traumatic and sudden, and Gosalyn had never really dealt with her feelings. She had been in shock when she arrived at St. Canard Orphanage, and she transitioned right from numb to angry, acting out in the worst way. Mrs. Cavanaugh had run the orphanage for a long, long time and she knew the cycles and symptoms of childhood grief all too well. Although she had to discipline Gosalyn for her trouble-making, the matron felt rather guilty about punishing her for what was only a natural reaction to unmanaged pain. No amount of coaxing, talking, or anything else had shaken the child out of her refusal to reveal her suffering, though, and it had gone unhealed and unabated.

Mrs. Cavanaugh knew very little of what had transpired when Gosalyn had disappeared from the orphanage; she had received a visit from Darkwing Duck explaining that the child was in protective custody due to something having to do with her grandfather's invention, and had heard nothing since. But when that odd young man had landed a plane in the yard, waking the light-sleeping headmistress, Mrs. Cavanaugh had seen this was not the time for explanations. It took only one glance at his face and Gosalyn's expression to know that the smoking remains of an explosion in the city had claimed someone both mourned for, and a shrewd guess told her who. And that, the motherly duck was sure, had reopened all Gosalyn's wounds. It was dangerous, the child going through so much pain unsupported by family or friends, and so she resolved to look out for her more closely than ever. Thus, unbeknownst to Gosalyn, the orphanage's matron was almost always within earshot of her that night.

When Gosalyn woke completely later, the room was empty. The day was bright and sunny, which was an offense to her spirits. Usually the spunky duckling was glad to bounce out of bed on a day like this, to play and cause trouble and experience that pale comparison to really being alive and well. Today she could only roll to face the window and let a few errant tears slip down her feathered cheeks. She had no will left.

A minute or several hours later, Gosalyn having no sense for the passage of time, Mrs. Cavanaugh returned to her bedside, urging her to eat. She nibbled listlessly at whatever was put before her, but eventually pushed it away, mumbling about not feeling good. She curled back into the bed, pulling the sheets tightly around her, hoping for solace. Mrs. Cavanaugh rubbed her back for a while, but it never really touched Gosalyn somehow. When grief let her, she fell back into a pain-filled sleep.

--==OOO==--

So transpired the next days, though later she would never really know how many had passed. Gosalyn fell into a habit of sleeping when exhausted and spending the rest of her time holding back insistent tears and staring out her window. Children came and went from play and lessons, prospective parents appeared and disappeared, night and day happened, and meals came and went, all of it on a seemingly random cycle. Gosalyn's only rhythm was that of suffering: exhaustion, sharp remembrance, loneliness, and wallowing in the recurring pain until exhausted once more. The only interest she took was in watching the slow reconstruction of the buildings out her window. Without knowing it, she was releasing the pressure her past had placed on her emotions for far too long, and as the reconstruction continued, so did the tiniest restorations to her heart, even though she felt no better.

Eventually Gosalyn became aware of a world outside herself. She noticed that she was hungry most of the time, and so made slightly more of an effort to eat. She became cognizant of her peers politely ignoring her but whispering about her when they thought she was asleep. She realized Mrs. Cavanaugh's extra attentions were meant to be comforting. But still none of it mattered. Her Grandpa had died and there was no bringing back her life with him. And the only hope she had ever known since had been snuffed out before her eyes with Darkwing's death in flames.

It was some mid-afternoon after the explosion when something edged Gosalyn back to reality. Like waking from a deep sleep and not knowing why, she found herself rising back to the surface of her mind without remembering what had spurned her there. She considered dropping back, falling into the water and losing the light and air above, but another tiny tug pulled her up again. Her head pricked and she finally realized she was hearing a voice, one so tantalizingly familiar it brought tears to her eyes.

For the first time since her return to the orphanage, Gosalyn wanted to move. The child, so desperately in need of comfort, wanted to be near that voice, just for the sake of the false warmth and remembrance it could offer. She tipped herself off the bed and crept, a shadow of her former rambunctious self, to the door that divided the dormitory space from Mrs. Cavanaugh's office. Hearing her name spoken by that same voice, she peeked around the doorframe.

There stood a heavily-bandaged duck, so like her lost Darkwing that for a moment she swam with the memory. He appeared to be asking Mrs. Cavanaugh if he might visit with her, but the matron refused. As if sensing Gosalyn's presence, he turned to where she lurked, and his eyes met hers. The child blinked, unbelievingly, at the soul that she saw in that intense gaze. It couldn't be. It wasn't possible. Nobody could have lived through that. Not even one she needed to have survived so badly she could have willed him into life by the power of her heart.

Then he blinked a few wraps of gauze from his forehead around his eyes and joy returned to Gosalyn's spirit as though driven there with the force of a train. She never knew she was moving until she felt herself collide with him, ending in a tangle on the floor. She was so fearful, so terrified that he might not be real after all. She could not live through losing him once more. But the love and affection in his voice was real, and his embrace was fierce with a kind of desperate thankfulness in spite of a wheezing cough from his many injuries. Gosalyn felt the irreverent desire to giggle as joy bubbled up and extinguished her sorrow. They spoke, but she was barely even aware of what was said, so lost was the sorrow-ridden duckling in the feeling of having Darkwing alive and beside her again.

And then he said the words, the most wonderful words Gosalyn had ever heard: "adopted daughter."

The part of Gosalyn's spirit that had languished in hopelessness and doubt for so long jumped forth and shouted in jubilant renewal, though she was struck speechless in the warmth of the feeling. She knew without even looking that Darkwing, no, Drake understood how she felt. She helped him to his feet, unable to take her eyes off the face of her soon-to-be father. A father. It washed through her. For the first time since those happy years with her Grandpa, Gosalyn experienced the feeling of having a family again.

Even the sudden and destructive appearance of Launchpad, backing the car through Mrs. Cavanaugh's wall, could not spoil the reunion. Again she fought the urge to giggle. It was looking like life would be a lot more interesting, a lot more adventurous now, but that was fine with her. She had the courage to face anything, as long as Drake was with her. Gosalyn suddenly knew, there beside the duck who was Darkwing, that this was right as nothing had ever been right before. She fit here, with them, in this life that lay open before her. This would be a family alive that would fill her again. Paperwork and signatures happened in a flurry around her, but only one thing remained instilled in her mind. One feeling, one word, the whole world contained in it.

Home.

--==OOO==--

As Mrs. Cavanaugh watched the odd little group gather into the car and drive out of what used to be her wall, the headmistress's fury melted at the parting look in Gosalyn's eyes. In all her time at the orphanage, never had the spirited duckling looked as honestly and innocently happy as she did now. This Drake, whoever he was, was evidently the one who had been lost and was now found, the missing friend who had won the child over. The matron hoped he knew how much he already meant to Gosalyn, now entrenched in his back seat. She had watched hundreds of children walk out her doors with adopted families, and unfortunately, some of them returned, rejected and unwanted. But looking at the love in the face of one Mr. Drake Mallard, Mrs. Cavanaugh was quite sure that she would never see Gosalyn again. Even without knowing anything about the two ducks that had come for the duckling, she felt in her heart that this was a family. The three of them had found each other somehow, and like a phoenix, together they would rise from the ashes of lonely lives and tragedies to a single life as one. Together.

In spite of the destruction, the cost of fixing the wall, the havoc being wrecked by the children who were now coming to investigate, and a hundred other practical concerns that bit at her nerves, Mrs. Cavanaugh turned and settled behind her desk with a look of serene peace on her face. There would be time for worry and anger and the work of a manager later. Now it was time for her favorite part of this job, the one activity that made this dreary and frustrating and pain-filled place worthwhile. The matron shook the papers that had forever changed Gosalyn Waddlemeyer to Gosalyn Mallard into order and placed them in a folder. With a light heart, she stamped the outside with the green "adopted" stamp and set it in a too-empty file in her desk.

"Good bye, Gosalyn Mallard. May you find the comfort and love you've always sought. You deserve a good family. Good luck to you, child."


End file.
